


where we can gaze into the stars

by liliumweiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween, Halloween 2020, Halloween Costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliumweiss/pseuds/liliumweiss
Summary: Emma Swan loved Halloween. Mostly, she loved that she could finally be herself without being judged. With a solid plan to enjoy her weekend at a party in New York, she had no idea her life would forever change on the most magical night of the year.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Kudos: 45





	where we can gaze into the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Welp! After YEARS thinking about this fic... it’s HERE! HAPPY HALLOWEEN PEOPLE!!!
> 
> A bit of backstory: Hannah Alexander. Cosplayers know her the most, I just stumbled onto her page on DeviantArt once, and fell in love. A few years ago, she published her own version of Jack and Sally Skellington and I told myself “Sara, this is gonna be something CS”. I had every intention of having Emma as a cosplayer and Killian as an actor, but without an event, and even while I’m going through a writing slump, I managed to get it out of my system. And I’m so happy about it!!!
> 
> I have not seen Nightmare Before Christmas in soooooo long, but I did my best to research and quote it as much as I could. To better visualize their costumes, I advise you search the pics. So. Good.
> 
> I hope you’re alright, and I hope you enjoy ♥

Emma Swan loved Halloween.

She loved how everything turned black and orange around her aided by fall turning leaves yellow and tangerine.

She loved the fact that the smell of pumpkin filled the air and even Granny had bent to the demands of tourists asking for pumpkin spice lattes. Ruby had snickered when putting out the chalkboard stand sign, only to be relegated to dishwasher duties for a week.

She loved, despite the mess they left behind, the kids going crazy over spooky decorations and candies, mostly because she loved those sweets as much as them.

She loved that she could find new ways to decorate her house and garden - and thanks to TikTok, Instagram and Pinterest, her folder of ideas kept getting longer and longer each year.

Mostly, she loved that she could finally be herself without being judged - she already had enough of that for threehundred-sixtyfour or threehundred-sixtyfive days per year.

Being a cosplayer in a small town was, ironically enough, like being a healer in Salem in 1692. Not that she was considered a witch, though Leroy did ask her if he could cast a spell on Granny’s lasagne to make them edible. That hadn’t turned out well for the man.

No, Emma was what everyone called a weirdo, with her handsewn dark clothes and a camera hanging around her neck. And that didn’t even consider all those times when she set up cosplay photoshoot all around Storybrooke.

Alas, as much as she wished they did, cosplays didn’t put food in her mouth nor did they pay the bills. That was up to her career as a make-up artist, which was the reason why most of Storybrooke spotted her hauling a suitcase into her beloved yellow Bug, leaving Ruby in charge of the sweets she’d purchased for the kids.

Emma dreaded what she would find upon her return from New York, but for now, she would just try to enjoy the weekend, when witches would come out to waltz and pumpkins scream in the dead of night.

-/-

New York was cold, probably not as cold as Storybrooke, but Emma felt grateful for whoever had organized the party: space heaters had been placed outside, granting comfort to those who’d had enough of being stuffed inside among people they didn’t know and didn’t want to mingle with.

Emma sighed, glad that only few were brave enough to face the cold. Plus, the size of the penthouse terrace was impressive, capable of hosting a helipad, and helped her need to be alone.

Though the party had been for many make-up artists, many celebrities had turned up as well, sporting wonderful looks they had clearly paid for. It irked her, because they wouldn’t have been able to achieve them without a make-up artist there to do it for them. This party was supposed to be in _their_ honour, not for famous people to flaunt looks they hadn’t spent hours or days on to enjoy.

Resisting the urge to stomp her foot, Emma marched to the railing, only to rapidly avert her path toward an outdoor stand where a man dressed like the horror version of Willy Wonka with purple bubbles scattered over his nose and cheeks marred with melting chocolate. His grin was horrifying, mostly because it resembled so much the one from the movie.

_Too bad that can’t be Johnny Depp_ , Emma thought to herself, mirroring the guy’s smile.

«Good evenin’, sweet Sally. What do you crave tonight?»

Not for the first time that night, Emma was grateful for the body paint blocking the view of her blushing skin. The guy was totally flirting with her, but she doubted it would lead anywhere.

_You’ve been out of that game for far too long_. That reminder sounded very much like Ruby.

After a rapid look at the menu behind him, she said: «Hot chocolate with rum, whipped cream and cinnamon, please.»

«Any preference on the rum? I have one that smells like caramel,» he offered, pouring a few fingers in a shot glass before handing it to her. As he’d reassured her, the smell of caramel hit her nostrils and moved her stomach.

«Perfect,» Emma agreed, her eyes probably shaping into two hearts.

After he’d prepared her drink, she tipped him - because he deserved that even if his paycheck would thoroughly compensate him - and headed to one of the benches near the infinity railing that offered a breathtaking view of the New York skyline.

Something crunched beneath her foot, forcing her to stop.

Crouching, Emma picked up the frozen stem of a thistle. She twirled it between her fingers, sitting down on the freezing bench. Thankfully, the many layers of fabric cushioned her and protected her skin from the cold, despite the breeze swirling up her calves.

The dried glue itched where she’d applied the fake stitches. _Only a few more hours_ , she thought to herself, knowing full well that parties like this one usually ended when the sunlight enveloped the tall skyscrapers in a lazy morning embrace.

Even just one sip of her hot chocolate helped thaw the ice threatening to settle into her bones. Thankfully, Emma had had the good sense to sew merino wool on the inside of the bodice; the thick striped socks had been a lucky but welcome find. For her legs, however, there was nothing to do but endure the cold as it was, no tights or anything, just pure, dyed skin marred by prosthetic stitches. When sitting down, however, the various layers of the skirt helped conceal and keep warm most of her thighs and knees.

That didn’t extend to her arms, left uncovered by more pieces of fabric cascading from the slightly puffy short sleeves.

_I should have just taken one of my cloaks,_ Emma grumbled, only to be reminded by her own inner voice that cosplays were supposed to be as accurate as possible. Or at least, that was her conviction.

Music drifted outside, the deafening volume blessedly blocked by soundproof windows, carrying just enough not to make her feel completely alone out there.

Her foot tapped against the floor, following along the fast-paced rhythm of whatever cover this was. Bold of her to assume she would hear decent music: after all, the hosts’ knowledge lay in make-up and costumes, not music.

Once again, her attention fell on the flower in her hand; the fact that it was a thistle of all flowers made her chuckle and shake her head, synthetic auburn strands moving with her.

« _My dearest friend, if you don’t mind, I’d like to join you by your side_.»

The dulcet sound of a low-timbered voice set her whole body on fire in the very middle of the coldest night so far. Blood thrummed in her veins, heating her up from inside out as her heart began to race, almost wanting out of her chest.

And out of her chest it flew.

Standing in front of her, tall, wearing the most perfect costume she’d ever seen, was Jack Skellington.

Her mouth parted in shock, eyelids heavy with make-up blinking almost lazily at the sight. Though many were the versions of Jack’s dress, she knew this one was inspired by the live action: while the design was faithful to the original, the costume department of the movie had added touches here and there to make it mouth-watering. The main difference everyone noticed was the hood, casting shadows over the mask Emma knew was made in silicone and perfectly fit Killian Jones’ features to catch his own facial expressions. He’d said he’d trained with a former CIA specialist to bear wearing the mask for hours on end, just like Jim Carrey had when filming _The Grinch_.

Another novelty were the gloves he was wearing, made of vantablack material to better blend with the darkness and give a better contrast to the bones attached on their back. This time, they hadn’t used green screen to make them look like part of a skeleton - which had caused disdain in the fandom and between all the nerds. That is, until the final product had been delivered.

What didn’t make sense was how the gloves were _perfect_ : usually, cosplayers couldn’t have access to vantablack because of the too expensive license fees, so those who’d tried to recreate those gloves usually used what was called black 3.0 several times, but somehow, it wasn’t the same.

Shaking herself out of her shock, Emma nodded, the long hair grazing her legs like spiders.

She watched him sit down next to her, his eyes never leaving her from behind the pitch black mesh fabric that gave the illusion of a hollow skull. She knew why, and pride swelled within her. Mary Margaret Blanchard, the actress who portrayed Sally, resembled Emma a bit, but it wasn’t just that: Emma would always, _always_ try to recreate the perfect cosplay, never stopping until she could walk into the costume department, switch the dresses and nobody would notice.

Sally’s costume, just like Jack’s, was very much different from the original one, with a more victorian gothic twist to it. The headpiece of fabric roses, buttercups and pearls was something the original Sally didn’t wear, but it perfectly suited her. Her costume reveal had brought cosplayers to their knees while most nerds drew their weapons, ready to fight to get a better costume. Strange how the slit in her dress didn’t appease the common man, probably because it didn’t give a sexy appeal to Sally, but it mostly reminded of a torn dress, which was what the designer wanted.

Jack - there was no other name he’d given her, so she would just call him that - kept on looking. But so did she.

There was something about his costume that nagged at her, something she couldn’t rationally explain. Was it so strange to see a cosplay so perfect when she was obsessed with perfection herself?

Without remorse, her fingers shot up, carefully grazing the skull. Immediately, she recognized the feel of silicone beneath her painted fingertips.

«Wow,» she gushed with wide eyes, «that must have cost you a fortune to make! And it’s so perfect… everything about your costume is perfect.» _My god, those buttons, and the stitches…_ «If I didn’t know better, I’d say you stole it from the costume department as some actors do when they leave a set.»

Though her words had been just a joke, Jack coughed, choking on his own breath. Once he’d recovered, he shook his head, the smile on the mask widening. Immediately, Emma remembered all the tidbits shared about it, how it did change following Killian’s expression; it was like having a highly sophisticated prosthetic hand that responded to the stimuli given by the nervous system. Everything Killian felt was replicated by the mask, making the effect even more terrifying. Even now, when Jack grinned, Emma was reminded of the movie, how it looked as if a skeleton had come alive.

«Not quite,» he admitted, the smoothness of his voice warming Emma up.

She arched an eyebrow, and he tilted his head.

At last, Jack sighed in defeat. «Would you believe me if I told you it was one of the few things I was allowed to take home from the set?»

It took a bit for her to realize what he was saying, her dyed eyebrows wrinkling together.

Emma sputtered. «You can’t be him, that’s just impossible!»

“Jack” cocked his head to the side. «Really? How so?»

«W-well...» she stammered, blinking slowly. _What the hell?_ «Everyone knows Killian Jones is in England right now...»

A snort reached her ears, and the man shook his head, the hood moving, light gently rippling over the smooth fabric. «Ah, love, don’t you know that social media can be easily deceived?» He was now grinning like a Cheshire cat.

It would’ve been so easy to ask him to remove his mask, to _prove_ to her that he was the real Killian Jones but, strangely, she felt as if she would be insulting Halloween itself.

Locking her jaw, she tapped her forefinger against the stem of the thistle, her mind working. He could easily tell her out of his own volition, put her out of her misery here and now, but where was the fun in that? Besides, there was a reason why he had chosen that dress for the night, not to flaunt that he was _the_ Killian Jones, but because, that way, he could keep his identity a mystery and be free.

Feeling her mouth suddenly dry, Emma took a long sip of the now lukewarm chocolate. Somehow, she was grateful he was not easily recognizable as other celebrities. Problem was, if he truly was who he claimed to be, he wasn’t aware of being sitting next to one of his numerous fans, one that might or might not have fantasized about him, about his _voice_ …

A light shiver licked down her spine and arms. _What wouldn’t I give to be an actual ragdoll right now_.

«Were you hoping I was someone else?» There was a trace of hurt in his voice, so raw and painful that Emma snapped her head up to look at him, wishing she could see his eyes.

«No, I-I just didn’t expect _you_ , that’s all.» Flustered, she waved at the French doors. «To be honest, I didn’t even expect celebrities, sure, Vic and Jeff have connections-»

«And very bad taste in music.»

Emma couldn’t help it: she laughed. Tension faded, the knots in her stomach loosened and warmth unfurled, spreading to every inch of her. «That they do. But still, I expected this to be a party for us artists, and I’ll probably sound rude, but I didn’t want others to join.» _No, that’s not just rude, Emma, that’s completely childish._

Killian - if that was even truly him - nodded. «One of the reasons why I chose this costume, it allows me to mingle but doesn’t make me someone to admire or look at in awe.» He shrugged. «Aside from the sentimental attachment, of course; it’s not everyday that I can wear it anymore.»

_I know where you could wear that coat_ , Emma’s mind supplied as she hungrily glanced down the silver twirls on his lapels and the brocade vest. _No, no, bad Emma_.

She licked her lips, blessing the waterproof lipstick she wore. The not so innocent movement didn’t go unnoticed, her mouth drawing Killian’s gaze. How she could tell, she didn’t know, she just _did_.

«That’s very kind of you,» she murmured, her voice strange even to her own ears. «Many are just parading works of those who won’t get any recognition.»

He hummed. «In a way, I’m a fraud, too. I didn’t make this dress, nor the mask.»

«Still, you could have come here without the mask, with a make-up done by someone else, and everyone’s eyes would’ve been on you, just because it’s _you_.» _Tone it down, Swan,_ she reprimanded herself; he didn’t deserve her ire.

«I’m surprised you’re not inside with Jefferson glowering at my colleagues,» he chuckled.

Emma’s insides melted at the sound, freeing butterflies in her stomach. «I hope Victor has hidden all his scissors.»

Victor and Jefferson were an incredible duo, both in and out of the bedroom. Emma and Vic knew each other since their teen years, when she was sent to Storybrooke out of all places. He’d been the crazy kid who loved chemistry more than anything else while she was a cast out who dreamed of better clothes, hating at the time that she had to sew them up in order to wear them again. They’d both found freedom in make-up, going to the same college and frequenting the same people.

Jefferson, on the other hand, was a single father who’d lost his first love to childbirth. Slightly older than them, he and Victor had clicked immediately on the first show they worked for together.

Now, years later, Vic had his own line of cosmetics that Emma _adored_ , Jefferson had his own line of clothes and they both were wonderful parents to Grace. Emma loved them like the brothers she never had and adored her goddaughter.

«Then again,» she chuckled, «if Vic snaps, prepare yourself for one hell of a hangover. Been there, done that, never gonna repeat it.»

«Ouch, I’ve heard of his concoctions, but I’ve never tried them. Are they that bad?»

Emma bit her tongue, holding back a laugh. «No, no way: they are delicious. They make you see paradise only to send you straight to hell the next morning.» She looked at him, wanting to inch closer and peek behind the black film. «Definitely worth it.»

The air around them started to buzz, reminding her of the effects of Victor’s cocktails. Only, she knew she was fairly sober, and what she felt wasn’t a mere illusion.

Emma had had her fair share of one night stands, a boyfriend here and there, always ending in heartbreak, but nothing compared to this, to the tingling just beneath her skin, to the way her body instinctively gravitated toward him.

A vibration broke the spell, making Emma wince. «Shit, sorry,» she said, placing the thistle on the bench to reach into the pocket she’d sewn into the skirt to host her phone. More texts followed the first, and with each one, her complexion paled beneath the paint.

Apologizing eyes looked up at Killian. «I wish I could say I can go kill my friend and come back to finish our talk, but I can’t. I need to go. I’m sorry.» Emma shot upright, the hot cocoa sloshing over the rim of the paper mug, coating her fingers and dripping on the floor. «I really am sorry.»

She flew, despite her want to stay, to try to better understand what was that _something_ between them, but in need to rush back to Storybrooke in hopes to find her house still standing.

Her heels clicked in her wake, Killian’s plea to wait making her heart bleed. In front of the glass door, she turned around, eyes locking with him even though logic would say she couldn’t be sure.

Killian was standing next to the bench, the thistle, secured in his hand. «Will you tell me your name?»

At that, Emma smiled, halfway between melancholia and amusement. «Where would the fun in that be? If we’re meant to be together now and forever...»

A groan escaped him, followed by a chuckle. «You’ll be the death of me, dearest friend.»

Her eyebrows shot upwards. «You seem pretty dead to me.»

His chuckle became a laugh, and more butterflies fluttered in her belly. Another incoming message dragged her back to reality.

With one last, mournful look at a laughing Killian Jones, and still slightly incredulous, Emma returned inside, leaving a tiny, small piece of her heart in the cold October night.

-/-

The doorbell interrupted her meticulous plans to kill Ruby.

Well.

Ruby _and_ those damned teens who had decided it was good to set fire to her cobwebs.

It was definitely just the vandals’ fault, but Ruby had been in charge of house-sitting. She was guilty by association.

And of course, she wasn’t there to help Emma clean the mess in the backyard. _Don’t be too hard on her, she helped you as much as she could before crashing_.

A defeated sigh escaped her. «Coming!» she called, entering her house and blatantly ignoring the mess of decorations in her living room. Her heart clenched at the sight.

The doorbell rang for the third time, setting her nerves off. «I swear to god, if you’re one of the kids who set my house on fire I’m going to find a goddamned actual witch to curse you to hell and back!» she swore, wrenching the door open.

Only, it was no kid.

_I would really hope not_.

Standing in front of her, with a grin that didn’t completely mask his concern, with bright blue eyes and a beanie doing a poor job of covering his pointed ears, as red as the tip of his nose, was one Killian Jones.

_Oh shit. It really_ was _him_.

Despite his words and the resemblance of his voice, Emma had convinced herself she’d not talked to the real Killian Jones. Perhaps he’d been his stuntman.

But now, seeing him in front of her in the broad daylight and without a mask… _Fuck_.

«I don’t know any witches, but I can help find one, if need be.»

Heart. Melting.

That was the effect he had on Emma. Apparently, having a crush on the actor was nothing compared to having a crush on the _man_.

«That’s… very nice of you. But unnecessary.» She blushed, dropping her head. «I’m sorry you had to see all this. Some idiots decided to become complete morons and risk jail because the weird girl was out of town.» Then, she looked up at him. «Wait a minute. How are you here?»

The same pinkness spread to his cheeks as he brought a hand to scratch behind his ear. «Ah, I might have persuaded Victor to tell me more about you...»

Emma was stunned. She should have been pissed at Vic for sharing personal information with a stranger, though Killian was no stranger to Victor. Besides, he could’ve just given up, as many had even after dating her for a few weeks. Instead, Killian Jones had come to Storybrooke. For _her_.

Not many - okay, not one man in her life - had ever made such an effort.

Remembering the last part of their conversation, she tilted her head, squinting at him. «I do wonder, have you extorted my name from Vic?»

Killian shook his head, black strands falling over his forehead. Her fingers itched to brush them away just to feel his hair beneath her skin. «As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I only inquired about Sally, and he told me that I would have to take a trip to Storybrooke and find the creepiest house in town. Thank goodness, he didn’t mean the haunted house on the hill.»

A laugh bubbled up in her throat as she stuck her hand out. «Well, I guess you deserve a reward for such a haunting experience. Emma Swan, make-up artist by day, cosplayer by night.»

The contact with Killian’s warm hand sent jolts of electricity up her arm; they turned into lighting bolts when he bent in a mock bow and kissed the back of her hand, his lips oh so deliciously warm and soft.

«Pleasure to meet you, Swan. I’m Killian Jones, actor by day, sometimes even by night.» His deep voice caressed her like a summer wind.

She felt at a loss, not knowing where to go from there, how to act. For the first time in her life, all Emma knew about men and how to be around them flew out of the window, catching on the tail of a witch’s broomstick.

For a moment, Killian didn’t move either, and she wondered if he felt the same helplessness, the same void inside her brain.

As if shaking himself out of a reverie, he brought his free hand to the pocket of his leather jacket. When he withdrew it, the same frozen thistle Emma had left in New York appeared, gently clutched in his fingers.

«My dearest friend,» he began, a mischievous twinkle in his striking blue eyes, «would you do me the honour of joining me where we can gaze into the stars after I’ve helped you clean up?»

Emma was speechless. Not only did he come to Storybrooke to find her and ask her on a date, but he was still quoting the end of the song, the duet between Jack and Sally, somehow never breaking character and yet still being himself. And, to add to that, he was offering to help her.

She had to lean against the doorframe, her knees suddenly weak. «So you think we’re simply meant to be?» Her words were a murmur, something she didn’t want to actually ask in fear of what his response would be.

Killian merely smiled wider, one hand shooting to graze his knuckles over her cheek. «I don’t know for sure, but it would be fun to investigate that possibility, don’t you agree?»

In plain sight, as anyone could see, beneath the mistletoe she put up as a nod to her favourite movie, Emma Swan, the weirdest girl in town, dragged famous star Killian Jones down for a kiss, wondering if her own now and forever had just begun.

-/-

The following Halloween was spent cuddling on the couch in Scotland, and if Emma found a way to sneak a 1700s handsewn gown in the luggage alongside a kilt she oh so gently pushed Killian to wear for an _Outlander_ inspired shooting to officially announce they were seeing each other, well, that was for their followers to go crazy about.

It wouldn’t be until two Halloweens later that she dressed up as the Corpse Bride, sporting an engagement and a wedding ring completely different from the right one you’d expect a professional cosplayer to wear. Her and Killian’s fans might have taken a bit to catch on - if you consider three minutes and twenty-five seconds “a bit”.

On their sixth Halloween together, they dressed up as Neo-Queen Serenity and King Endymion, but it was very much clear that she didn’t need a prosthetic pregnant belly beneath the dress.

Their fans took just a tad longer, this time, but they were dancing beneath the stars, just as they were always meant to be.


End file.
